


The clock on your wall (is full of sand)

by dana_norram



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 1930s Berlin, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Historical References, Intercrural Sex, Just the Tip, Light Angst, M/M, Nazi Germany, Porn with Feelings, Protective Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, The Old Guard: Tales Through Time, Undercover Missions, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28883730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_norram/pseuds/dana_norram
Summary: They rarely feel this overwhelming need to be intimate in public, but it is good to have the option. Joseph is set on savouring it while he can. He puts his cigarette out and he takes Nicolas’ hand between his fingers, pulling it towards his mouth so he can press a kiss against his knuckles.Joe and Nicky in 1932 Berlin.My take on That Cover fromTales Through Time.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 64
Kudos: 343





	The clock on your wall (is full of sand)

**Author's Note:**

> Since the news about [The Old Guard: Tales Through Time](http://www.polygon.com/comics/2021/1/18/22233030/the-old-guard-sequel-tales-through-time-anthology-writers-artists), I have known no peace, so I was forced to put aside my BigBang fic for a moment and come up with my version about The Cover (you know which one).
> 
> I have no excuses, so I just want to profusely give my eternal thanks to the wonderful [Aqua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes/) for tackling the first draft of this thing and helping me to make it better and to the lovely [Michelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/side_biddy/) for all her suggestions and inputs. Also to [Luz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarita99/), for cheering me on at all times. They are all amazing writers and you totally should check their works.
> 
> A bunch of talented artists made [their own versions](https://negotiumcrucis.tumblr.com/tagged/tog-ttt:%20fanart) of The Cover and they are all beautiful and I could stare at those arts for days. For this story, I was inspired by [these two beautiful pieces](https://tenjoura.tumblr.com/post/640769201328488448) drawn by the lovely **Tenjoura**. Please, go follow her on both [Tumblr](https://tenjoura.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ura_odgd), I promise you won’t regret it!

Joseph doesn’t look up when a chair is pulled by his side.

He doesn’t need to. He would have recognised the sound of Andrea’s footsteps in the middle of a crossfire, let alone muffled by some loud music and overlapping conversations.

He doesn’t take his eyes away from his sketchbook, but from his peripheral vision he can tell she has brought her own drink. It’s vodka, neat. His throat feels parched, and his glass is empty, but he has been avoiding looking in the general direction of the bar for the past twenty minutes. He is not ready to give up now.

He thinks about asking Andrea if she had any new letters from Sébastien, just to set the tone, but she speaks first.

“So,” she says, and Joseph can almost hear the smirk in her voice. “Who’s mad at who?”

His shoulders shake as he tries to contain a laugh. He shouldn’t be surprised. Of course she would notice something was wrong just by looking at him.

“I am,” he says and lets out a heavy breath. He puts his pencil down and stares critically at the cartoon he has been doodling. The resemblance with Röhm is uncanny. “I was.” He admits after Andrea elbows him.

“How long has it been?” she asks knowingly.

Joseph doesn’t have to think about the answer, but he pauses anyway. “Two days,” he replies. He has retreated to the sofa of their flat since and he began to ignore all of Nicolas’ attempts to discuss the matter. His body aches, and he is sure the Germans must have a twenty-letter word for that kind of pain, a phantom feeling that feels physical, like a void trying to be filled.

“You are being stubborn,” Andrea says in Arabic, and Joseph finally looks up. He watches as she downs her whole drink in a very unladylike manner and he can’t help a full-laugh this time.

She chuckles and elbows him again. The short hair suits her, but he can tell how uncomfortable she is in that skimpy dress. It clings to her body, making it impossible for her to conceal a weapon larger than a dagger, and Andromache never was one for small measures.

“You should be mad at _me_.” She sounds serious now, as if the alcohol has made her sober. “It was my idea, not his.”

Joseph finally looks over her shoulder and lets himself stare at the bar. Nicolas is leaning against it, chatting with a cross-dresser named Bianka. He has a drink in his hands, and he looks back at Joseph almost immediately, as if his gaze was drawn by a magnet. He does not smile, but Joseph can tell he wants to, the line of his perfect jaw twitching.

“You are right,” he says to Andrea without taking his eyes away from the bar. Nicolas has changed out of that awful brown shirt he has to wear every day, his hair no longer slicked back with grease. His terrible fake moustache is nowhere in sight, only the soft goatee left on his chin. “It was your idea, yes, but he agreed.”

“Well,” Andrea tilts her head, a grin playing with her lips. “It’s not his fault he is the only one between you boys who has an uncut dick.”

Joseph wants to beg her to not talk about Nicolas’ cock, especially not when he hasn’t gotten to touch Nicolas for days, but it’s too late and he is already feeling a tight pressure in his groin. He needs a drink, but Andrea isn’t done with him.

“What happened?” she asks sharply. “Are they on to him?”

“On the contrary,” Joseph replies and chokes out a sad laugh. “Röhm invited him to dinner. At _his_ place.”

Andrea pauses as she takes in the news. Ernst Röhm is the commander of the Sturmabteilung, the Party’s militia, and Nicolas has been working for the past four weeks to infiltrate their ranks and gather intel. They all knew Nicolas was the best for the job between the four of them. His accent is flawless and he has the correct skin tone, the hair, the eyes. He also is a beautiful man, and Röhm’s proclivities were well-known in all of Berlin. Which was good news for them, of course, but Joseph still feels the idea like a knife twisting inside his guts.

“Are you worried it could be a trap?” She asks and raises an eyebrow. “Or are you jealous?”

Joseph shakes his head. “You don’t have to tell me I have nothing to worry about,” he says, and he means every word. Nicolò is his and he is Nicolò’s. “I know him.”

He pockets his sketchbook and thinks about going home to the flat he’s sharing with Nicolas, but the idea of sleeping another night on the sofa without his heart in his arms is too much.

“There was a struggle a couple of days ago,” he says instead, glad to have someone to hear his troubles. “Between the SA and the commies, and he got stabbed. He managed to escape before anyone noticed anything, but it was a close one... What if something happens when he is alone with Röhm?” He feels his eyes burn and his heart tighten. “I swear I will slaughter that pig with my bare hands, Andromache.”

“I know, Yusuf.” She places her hand on his shoulder and squeezes it hard. “And I am sorry to say this, but things are probably going to get worse.”

He knows that, and so does Nicolas, better than any of them. He is in the thick of it. Every day he wears that hateful uniform and is forced to do things that bring up his worst memories, but he never complains. He puts on a brave face. Joseph feels sick to his stomach when he looks into Nicolas’ pale eyes, listening to him talk about the windows he has thrown bricks at, the hurtful things he had to shout at people he had never met, and the appalling jokes he had to fake laughing about in order to maintain his farce.

Nicolas always writes down the addresses of the shops he has helped to vandalise and he sends them money to pay for the broken windows, and later he clings to Joseph as if praying for forgiveness for all damages no money can repair. The intel he gathers helps them to shut down safehouses where the militia stores weapons and lists of future targets, and yet, most of the time Joseph feels as if they are fighting a hydra. For every head they manage to cut off, another two seem to grow in its place.

Joseph blinks as he realises Andrea is no longer looking at him and he follows the line of her sight. He soon notices her current dalliance, a young blonde with red lips and a bright smile who is busy dancing with a group of girlfriends. Andrea’s eyes are dark and hungry, her mouth pressed in a thin line. Even after all those years, she’s still hard on herself.

“Go ahead,” he switches to German as he elbows her this time. “At least one of us should get laid tonight.”

Andrea snorts as she picks her cigarette box, offering him one. He accepts it as she digs around in her purse, looking for something to lit them. Joseph catches a glimpse of the polished metal of brass knuckles and a lipstick before he offers her his own lighter instead. Andrea accepts it and lights both cigarettes with efficiency. She slips his lighter into her purse and before he can protest, she leans closer and kisses his cheek.

“Have a little faith, brother.” She is gone after giving him a wink, and Joseph barely has time to look back at the bar before he realises Nicolas is standing right beside him. He has two glass of whiskey in his hands and a shy smile on his lips. Joseph wants to kiss him, but he does not dare. He needs Nicolas to forgive him first.

“You look thirsty,” Nicolas says as he sets both glasses down.

Joseph accepts his just to have something to do with his hands. The glass is cold between his fingers and he puts his cigarette away for a moment so he can take a sip. The liquid burns down his throat and he lick his lips before he picks his cigarette again and takes another drag, the bitterness of the nicotine mingling with the smoky, strong taste of the whiskey.

“Do you want to sit down?” he asks Nicolas, but he avoids his eyes. “You have been on your feet the whole day.”

Joseph overhears a chuckle and when he looks up, Nicolas’ face is mere inches away from his. He wants to reach out and trace the line of his jaw and touch his beauty mark, to play with the small patch of hair on his chin, but he restrains himself just in time. He belatedly notices that Nicolas has produced a cigarette of his own and is staring at him.

“Can I borrow yours?” Nicolas asks and leans in before Joseph can reply, his eyes closed and face blissed. Joseph feels his shoulders and arms tense as soon as he smells the soap on Nicolas’ skin and it takes him a moment to realise Nicolas has placed his fingers over his hand. He can feel the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

“My heart,” he says as Nicolas opens his eyes and takes a puff of his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side. “Nicolò.”

Nicolas smiles and before Joseph can say anything else, he feels a weight against his left knee, as Nicolas straddles his thigh with ease. He stares back at him, surprised, but grateful for the warmth Nicolas radiates. They rarely feel this overwhelming need to be intimate in public, but it is good to have the option. Joseph is set on savouring it while he can. He puts his cigarette out and he takes Nicolas’ hand between his fingers, pulling it towards his mouth so he can press a kiss against his knuckles. Nicolas’ eyes light up and he tilts his head, baring his neck. Joseph pauses for a moment, an idea forming in his mind.

He leans in and brushes his stubble against the smooth skin of Nicolas’ face at the same time his fingers trace patterns against Nicolas’ open palm. Joseph feels it when Nicolas inhales a shaky breath as he bites down on his earlobe.

“Do you think they would mind?” He asks in Ligurian, his tone no louder than a sigh. “If I threw you over this table and made love to you?”

He feels vindicated when Nicolas intertwines their hands in a strong, crushing grip and he laughs against his ear, pressing a light kiss on the curve of his neck. “Come on,” he says, pulling Nicolas back on his feet. “Let’s go home.”

They don’t make it very far. Not even halfway out of the club, Nicolas grabs Joseph’s suspenders, pulling him in for a kiss. Their lips part with half-contained moans, and beneath the layers of nicotine and alcohol Joseph can taste something he knows is just his Nicolò. He wraps a firm hand around Nicolas’ waist, pressing their bodies together.

They end up in an empty room, maybe a dozen tables with rounds of chairs propped over. Joseph presses Nicolas against a wall, pulling his shirt out of his pants, allowing his suspenders to be pushed off his shoulders.

Nicolas grabs Joseph’s curls between his fingers, just a touch below painful. He lets out a grunt and reverses their positions, pushing Joseph against the wall so he can drop to his knees. Joseph breathes deeply as he watches Nicolas open his trousers with firm, never shaking hands, taking out his cock and licking the head with the tip of his pink tongue.

Joseph closes his eyes and grabs a handful of Nicolas’ hair, pulling him closer, until Nicolas begins to suck him. He lets his head fall against the wall, enjoying the pressure of Nicolas’ warm mouth around him, his tongue and his lips dragging moan after moan from Joseph. He is fully aware that if he does not put a stop to it, he is going to come down Nicolas’ throat and though that image almost makes his hips buck forward, he decides to stroke his beloved’s hair, coaxing him to let it go.

“My heart,” he says as Nicolas looks up, pretty lips stretched around his cock. The vision alone is almost too much, and he realises it wouldn’t be the worst idea to coat Nicolas’ face with his come, to watch it cling against his eyelashes and onto the patch of hair on his chin, but after two days, Joseph needs more and he knows Nicolas does too. “Come here.”

He kisses Nicolas again, just a light touch of lips before he pushes him against the wall and presses his hard cock against his clothed ass. Nicolas whimpers as Joseph helps him to shove down his trousers, but he does not curse aloud when Joseph slides his wet cock between his thighs. He starts with slow, shallow thrusts, and Nicolas grunts when Joseph takes his half-hard cock between his hands and smears pre-come along Nicolas’ length. He jerks Nicolas off in the same rhythm of his thrusts, increasing the speed as he slowly loses control of his senses.

He is busy kissing every inch available of Nicolas’ neck and behind his ears when he notices words between his whimpers. “Please, Yusuf, I need you,” Nicolas begs in their secret language, an old mix of Sabir, Ligurian and Arabic. “I need you, please.”

Joseph curses under his breath. There’s no way he is going to fuck Nicolas without some slick and he does not feel strong enough to leave him alone for even a second to find something they could use. He needs to feel every inch of Nicolas’ skin under his, he needs to listen only to the sound of his moans and pleas, to drink his taste and to become one with him until life stops hurting. He begins by helping Nicolas out of his crumpled shirt, pressing small kisses all over his broad shoulders and down along his spine. He has to kneel when he mouths the curve of his hips, followed by the skin over his tailbone. Joseph can’t help grinning when Nicolas whimpers at his next words.

“Hold yourself open for me, babe,” he breathes against Nicolas’ entrance, breaching him with his tongue. He feels when Nicolas’ knees threaten to buckle under his touches and he kisses against the sensitive skin, slowly loosening up Nicolas’ hole with saliva and the tip of one finger. “Yes, just like that.”

The sound of his tongue and Nicolas’ moans fill the empty room, and Joseph starts to jerk himself off, adding the noises of skin against skin to the mix. He uses one of his hands to grab one of Nicolas’ ass cheeks to keep him open before he adds, “Touch yourself for me, my heart.”

Nicolas’s legs tremble and he begins to push back against Joseph’s tongue in an easy, fine beat. Joseph fucks into his own fist as he fucks his tongue in Nicolas, stopping only to caress him with words and with a finger inside of him.

“Yes, babe, you are doing so good,” he says as he takes his finger out and laps his tongue against Nicolas’ hole again. He stares, marveling at how the inside of Nicolas’ cheeks and thighs fade from red to pink from the burn of his stubble. “Do you think you can come like this, just from my tongue... or do you need my cock?”

Nicolas cries out, his whole body convulsing like one single muscle. He only nods and stops touching himself, putting both of his hands against the wall. Joseph stands up before he can fully understand what he is doing and presses only the head of his cock into Nicolas’ hole. He doesn’t push in further, instead he keeps his fist tight around his length, jerking himself off with short, shallow strokes. When Nicolas finally comes, his body limp and sated, Joseph kisses the nape of his neck and groans against his feverish skin. He gives his cock just one or two more tugs and, with a muffled shout, empties himself inside of Nicolas.

They stay like that, bodies now pressed against each other. At some point, Joseph instructs Nicolas to not let a drop drip out and he pulls the head of his cock out. He peppers kisses over Nicolas’ back and tries to clean both Nicolas and himself with a handkerchief as best as he can. He helps Nicolas to pull on his underwear, followed by his trousers, before he dresses himself as well. They don’t bother with much more as they both collapse together in a pile against the wall.

Joseph wraps an arm around Nicolas’ waist and mouths over his bare shoulder, their breathing slowly settling down. He pats the pockets of his pants and groans under his breath when he takes out his cigarette box and remembers that Andrea stole his lighter. He thinks how he would kill for a smoke when there’s a scratching sound followed by an orange light. Joseph blinks as he notices the box of matches Nicolas had just pulled out his own pants with a sheepish smile.

He accepts when Nicolas holds out the match to light his cigarette and he takes a long drag, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. They share the cigarette between them, back and forth until it turns into a stub.

“I am sorry,” Joseph says in Ligurian, an old gesture he used to employ eight-hundred years ago, whenever he wanted Nicolò to understand him without a shadow of doubt. “I am sorry I was scared.”

Nicolas stares back at him and he nods in the way Joseph knows means there is nothing to forgive. Still, he needs some reassurance, and he gets it once Nicolas leans forward and presses their foreheads together. They stay like that for several minutes, no more than a grain of sand in the shores of eternity, but that’s good enough for them.

  
  


_The clock on your wall  
It is full of sand  
Put your hand in mine  
And let us be eternal_  
**To Ash, to Dust – Severija**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this. If you enjoyed it, I would love to hear your thoughts about it. Comments and kudos are a lifeline when things are feeling low. You also should come and hang out with me on [Tumblr](http://negotiumcrucis.tumblr.com/), the place where I spent the last couple of days just reblogging every piece of art about The Cover I could find.
> 
> Ernst Röhm was a real historical figure, close friend and ally of Adolf Hitler. He was the co-founder of the _Sturmabteilung_ (SA, "Storm Battalion"), the Nazi Party’s militia, also known as Brownshirts ( _Braunhemden_ ) for the colour of their uniform. Röhm became commander of the SA in 1931 and was executed in 1934 during the _Night of the Long Knives_ , as he became a potential threat to Hitler’s political power. Röhm was a known homosexual and you can read more about it [here](http://www.npr.org/2014/12/17/371424790/between-world-wars-gay-culture-flourished-in-berlin).
> 
> Title’s from **Zu Asche, Zu Staub** , a song by Severija. You can check out a clip of the performance in the series _Babylon Berlin_ [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pzhP2b6gLfc) (with English subtitles). I haven’t watched the series yet, but I can tell you that this clip got my attention. Thank you so much, Aqua, for the wonderful suggestion!


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